


There Are Many Ways to Love the Commander

by in_fatuated



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_fatuated/pseuds/in_fatuated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All she wanted to do, was to love him 'til the end of her days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Two Times

**Author's Note:**

> Because Cullen deserves love.  
> And I need something fluffy.  
> And my other story is stuck.
> 
> Even though this has been done a million times over.

The First Time (To the Temple of Sacred Ashes)

The first words that Cullen Stanton Rutherford ever said to her, or rather, to Cassandra Pentaghast were, “You managed to close the rift? Well done.”

Evelyn Trevelyan remembered thinking, “ _Maker’s breath_ , this soldier (general?) is breathtakingly handsome.”

Her palms grew clammy and when his eyes met hers, it felt as though her heart had stopped beating.

Cassandra sighed loudly and admitted that the ‘prisoner’ (that was _her_ ) was the one who closed the rifts.

The handsome man blinked once, slowly, and said, “Is it? I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

He had honey brown eyes, a somewhat accusatory glance in their depths.

_Was she blushing? Maker, why?_

Evelyn only hoped that she had managed to say something smart in reply.

All she knew was that her breath had caught somewhere in her throat, and it was difficult to form words with her stiff lips.

Then he had said, “Maker watch over you, for all our sakes,” before turning away from them.

His voice had been deep and her toes curled in response.

That had left her staring after him, in awe, mouth slightly open, as he bent down to lend his shoulder as support to a wounded soldier.

A templar, she noted belatedly, in the way he held his shield, and the way his eyes shifted in the direction of each spell that was cast by the surrounding mages as they healed the injured troops.

His heavy armour and shield bore no insignia of the Order, however, but there was not enough time to think on it further. Cassandra had ushered her away before she could say another word.

And later, waking up  in the little cottage in Haven, she had wondered if that encounter had been a dream. She wondered if the words he said to her had been an insult, or blameless in nature.

She wondered if she had already made the handsome man dislike her, just by being the only survivor at the Conclave.

She wondered if she would get to see him again.

 

The Second Time (Haven’s War Room)

_Commander Cullen._

That was his name.

She loved it. The syllables rolled off her tongue effortlessly. _Cul-len._

Cassandra had made the introductions quickly, but all she could focus on was _him_ – standing across the table. His armour glittered brightly in the candlelight, his red fur mantle looking so soft and furry that she felt like burrowing her face into it.

 _Leader of the Inquisition forces,_ Cassandra had said. Such a simple title, and yet it sent butterflies fluttering in her belly.

Her circle had been home to a couple of templars of his stature – impossibly gorgeous and unattainable, but she had never given them much thought. She had thought them to be vain, and arrogant, full of themselves and detestable.

But not this Commander. His scar curved fetchingly on his lip, a blemish on otherwise chiseled perfection but Evelyn thought it made him even more attractive.

The stubble around his jaw only served to heighten his masculinity and she longed to run her own hands over it.

His golden hair was neat and obviously cared for, although not in a way that would suggest he spent most of his mornings in front of the vanity trying to tame his curls into submission.

He was tall, not overly so, but still tall enough that she would not be able to kiss him even on her tippy toes (not that he would ever allow her to, but that made her even more determined to try).

“I’m pleased you survived,” he had said. And Evelyn’s heart gave a sweet leap. _Was he_? _Could he hear her heart stuttering?_

He smiled at her.

She nearly buckled over.

 _Well, she’d never have guessed. He had a lovely smile_.

She spent most of the first council staring at him. As Cullen championed going to the templars for aid, Evelyn merely nodded along and smiled shyly at him.

The other ladies either knew of her new plight and sympathized, or they were clueless and must have thought her to be dumb or slightly deaf, when they had to keep repeating their questions to her.

She only gave them her full attention when someone mentioned the _Herald of Andraste_ , and she did not know if she wanted to laugh out loud or curl on the floor to cry at the irony of it.

A mage. The Herald.

Then Commander Cullen _looked_ at her, and she nearly failed to hear what he said as the blood pounded in her ears.

“That’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” he asked.

 _Maker,_ he was speaking to her. He expected a reply.

She racked her brain for something that would make her sound mature, grown up, capable.

“It’s a little…unsettling,” she said instead. _Well, wasn’t she a witty one?_

She resisted the urge to slap her palms to her cheeks and listened as they discussed sending her off to the Hinterlands. The question at the tip of her tongue was, “Would the Commander be coming too?”

But she decided that she already seemed like a fool and kept her mouth shut.

After the council, Evelyn Trevelyan did not return to her cottage to sit at her desk to draw heart shapes on a scroll.

Neither did she scribble his name next to hers the way she used to when she was ten.

But she _did_ start murmuring his name to herself from time to time as she explored Haven, mining little chunks of iron or weeding out the sparse elfroot that grew there.

It was such a common occurrence that it became a habit of hers. Once, a stray nug had scampered out of a bushel she had been digging around in, and in her surprise, Evelyn had yelled out his name.

That had been embarrassing, and she took care to make sure she was really alone before letting her thoughts wonder to the Commander again.

She had hoped it would get better – that she would become more adept at hiding her attraction or that it would somehow diminish.

But it only got worse, especially after Leliana let slip his last name – Cullen _Rutherford._

That had brought her fantasizing to a whole new level, and she spent night after night putting that name to his beautiful face, lulling herself to sleep. It kept the loneliness at bay.

Evelyn Trevelyan was done for – hook, line and sinker. She had embarked on a hopeless, one-sided, emotional roller coaster with all her hopes pinned on an ex-templar who in all likelihood would never spare her a second glance.

Maker bless her.


	2. From Afar (Haven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Herald is not perfect. At all.

The Herald of Andraste.

That was _her,_ now. She was no longer just Evelyn, ordinary mage from the Circle of Ostwick. People called her the Herald - sent by Andraste herself to save the world.

They even _bowed_ to her. It had taken a great deal of discipline to resist bowing back at them.

The day after the council meeting, the newly acclaimed Herald of Andraste had ridden to the Hinterlands, gracefully escorted by Lady Cassandra and accompanied by her two new friends – Varric and Solas.

 _Friends_ may be stretching the truth a little. She wasn’t really sure if they liked her at all.

Evelyn had suffered.

Mercifully, this was not her first journey on the road. Travelling to the Conclave had been a new experience, and she had marveled at the lack of basic amenities as they journeyed. Then, it had been a novelty – looking for firewood, setting up tents, trying and failing to cook whatever meat the hunters had scavenged. She _had_ suffered, but she had her friends around her – other mages, Senior Enchanters and Apprentices alike. They had been her pillar of strength, and they had stumbled and worked their way around the complications of camping together. They were all gone, now.

She felt lonely. No one laughed with her when she tripped over a log, or when she stupidly brought back damp branches to act as kindling for the fire.

It was Varric who had patiently explained that kindling needed to be much drier.

In fact, they were probably laughing _at_ her when her tent collapsed in the middle of the night, even though Cassandra’s stony face did not change at all. The Seeker had let her sleep in her own tent that night, and patiently showed her how to position the poles and fold the canvas the next morning.

Evelyn had never felt more stupid in her life.

She was just thankful that she hadn’t yelled out the Commander’s name in surprise again, when her tent started caving in on her.

She met with Mother Giselle, and wondered what was so extraordinary about the conversation that it could not have been done over a couple of letters.

All in all, Evelyn felt like she was being tested. And she did not like it one bit.

So, when the requests for aid and horses and missing persons and all other sorts of ‘urgent’ matters came piling in, she withdrew to her tent and allowed her self-control to crumble.

She would ask Varric and Solas to hunt for the meat that the refugees so badly needed, Maker knows she would be useless at that. Still, the people needed to be fed.

Then, she would insist that they return to Haven. The other matters would have to wait. Evelyn was not strong enough to do any of the things that Master Dennet and his family asked of her. She did not even know how to _ride_ a horse. She wasn’t very good at reading maps so how was she supposed to find those watchtowers? Besides, wolves _terrified_ her. Offensive magic was not even her strength.

She did not dare to tell Cassandra any of this, and remained stubbornly determined to leave when the Seeker suggested that they stay in the Hinterlands longer.

The Herald of Andraste is a coward.

They should just cut off her hand and call _that_ the Hand of Andraste and release her.

And so it came to pass, that the Herald returned to Haven within a week, with a stack of quests tucked in Cassandra’s pack that remained pending in the Hinterlands.

The advisors gathered in the War Room and sifted through the papers. Evelyn was particularly disturbed by the frown that the Commander was wearing as he perused the reports.

She shrunk into herself and kept her head down.

“Let me get this straight,” she heard him say, “A week in the Hinterlands, and we only managed to convince a Chantry Cleric to come to Haven, and deliver ram meat to the refugees?”

Shame filled her at the incredulity in his voice. She dragged her foot along the worn stones of the chantry floor and sneaked a peek at Cassandra – the only one who had been there and witnessed her failures.

The Seeker remained blessedly quiet, and avoided meeting her eyes.

Evelyn returned her gaze to the floor.

“Herald, enlighten us. I fear I do not understand,” the Commander persisted.

She winced, trying to come up with some feasible excuse, even though he would surely see through her at once.

Thankfully, Leliana stepped in after a few beats of painful silence. “Herald, a word in private, please?”

Evelyn nodded wordlessly. Silence continued to reign around her, and she imagined the advisors were probably throwing questioning looks at the Spymaster. After a while, she heard the shuffling of shoes and the War Room doors opened.

She looked up to see the broad back of the Commander striding out, with Josephine and Cassandra leading the way.

Evelyn sighed. He would know how useless she was soon, anyway. She really should not let it dishearten her so.

“Tell me what is bothering you, Herald,” Sister Leliana said.

She snapped her gaze to the other woman. The pretty sister’s chin was tilted in a quizzical angle, but she knew that it would not be easy to lie to the Spymaster.

“I- I don’t know how to fight,” she forced herself to say, figuring that it was better that they found out sooner rather than later, and that this might encourage them to release her from service.

She _had_ wanted to help, in any way that she could, but she had not known the skills that were needed were way above her own abilities.

Leliana said softly, “Cassandra said that you took down a couple of wraiths by yourself, when she was bringing you to the rift.”

“That was…those were simple fire spells. I used them to light the sconces back at the Circle tower. I can’t do much more. I trained mostly in healing and potions, and inventory and stock taking,” she muttered in a small voice. She honestly had not expected the wraiths to be felled by her simple little fireballs. It had been a stab in the dark after she grabbed the fallen staff by the roadside in a panic.

She heard Leliana inhale sharply, and was surprised when she said, “I thought as much.”

“What? You _knew_?” she asked.

“I suspected,” the Spymaster corrected her gently, her sharp eyes travelling down to Evelyn’s hands, skin too soft and smooth to belong to a fighter, “but you did not say anything, so I let it be.”

“Do _they_ know?” Evelyn asked with dread in her stomach.

“The other advisors? If they did not know before, I am sure they will realize this soon enough.”

Evelyn felt like raging and throwing a tantrum and screaming how unfair this all was. She _couldn’t_ have been chosen, for she knew nothing! If only she was a mere Apprentice, and had not passed her harrowing – they may not expect so much from her.

_But then Cullen would watch her like an abomination, and she did not think she would be able to stand for that either._

Instead, she said, “I do not know how to ride a horse either, and Dennet’s daughter challenged me to a _race_. Or – or navigate with maps. I definitely cannot fight those renegade templars or the bandits. I did not dare tell them, a- and I could not allow everyone to walk into battle, knowing that I would only be a hindrance.”

 _And I really do not want to die so soon._ She left that bit out.

“It is not something to be embarrassed about,” Leliana assured her.

“Isn’t it, though? You are…with your bow and arrows, and Josephine with her words. The Commander is…” she gestured wordlessly, “do I even need to say more?”

“We were _trained_ , Herald. You were in a Circle for most of your life. You had no opportunity. Let us help.”

Evelyn kept quiet. She felt an overwhelming urge to cry, but she made herself stay calm. No reason to hurt her own reputation even further.

“I will ask Solas to help you with those simple fire spells. Enough to defend in battle, if needed. You can remain behind the lines, and provide support with healing and guarding. Cassandra or Varric will be able to help with navigation. As for the horses, I am sure the Commander would not mind sparing a couple of hours to teach you,” Leliana continued, making everything sound so simple.

 Evelyn nodded again, and the lump in her throat shrank just a little.

“Really, Herald, all you needed to do was _ask_. We should have talked to you first, instead of sending you out into the field so quickly. For that, I am sorry. Please remember, we are here to help,” Leliana placed her hand on Evelyn’s arm comfortingly.

“I – thank you,” was all she managed to say in reply, and she hoped that Leliana could hear the sincerity in her voice.

She wandered over to speak to Varric after that, not really in the mood to be alone and still too shaken to look for anyone else. Leliana would be making the rounds to inform the others about her predicament, and Evelyn did not want to be around to see their pitying looks.

So she asked the dwarf about his family, his work, his life. Varric was compliant enough, entertaining her with stories she doubted were wholly true, yet she did not complain. They were not _friends_ , after all. She would not ask for much.

Solas approached her next, and told her to be up early the next morning to begin their training. He was more well-versed in ice spells, but he could teach her to focus and wield her staff without poking someone’s eye out. He was sure that with practice, her casting would become more powerful and that would be enough to keep her alive.

Evelyn felt better already.

Gathering her courage, she ventured out of Haven’s gates. She could see the Commander’s red coat all the way from the steps. He was stationed in the middle of the training grounds as usual, arms crossed and surveying his troops sternly.

She crossed the grounds towards him, immediately gravitating to his presence without conscious thought.

Cassandra watched her as she passed, glancing up from her conversation with Leliana, and gave her an encouraging nod. She must be listening to Leliana’s explanations on their Herald’s odd behavior. Evelyn flashed a weak smile at the Seeker’s understanding, feeling grateful and bashful all at once.

As they resumed their conversation, Evelyn focused on the one man who had captivated her attention in its entirety ever since their first meeting in the field.

“There’s a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead!” She heard him yell, and immediately swung her gaze in his direction.

Without turning, he addressed a soldier standing next to him, “Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

Evelyn shuddered and coughed into her hand. _That voice_. It’s a good thing _he_ would not be the one training her. She would not have been able to concentrate at all.

She skirted around the perimeters of the training grounds, wending and weaving her way closer and closer to him. If she kept her head down, no one would notice.

Finally, she stood just a few feet away from him, and already she felt heady from the proximity. The Commander was standing _right there_. She had waited for this moment ever since she left for the Hinterlands, every inch of her being aching to turn around and ride back to Haven to see him.

She leaned against the tent pole behind her and settled in to watch him for as long as she could. A luxury she could barely afford, but she could not really help herself.

She stared at him from her little corner, eyes wide as she marveled, drinking in every detail she could see and carving it into her memory. It would be something to keep her going when she left Haven again.

She would remember this – the curve of his broad shoulders, decorated with heavy pauldrons and fur; his fair hair, standing a head taller than any other soldier, gleaming brightly in the winter sun; the strength he carried effortlessly, in the straightness of his back and the widened stance of his feet; his large hands, waving in the air as he spoke, or cupping the pommel of his sword with such authority; the tail of his coat, offering tantalizing glimpses of his well-defined and shapely…behind.

 _Oh_ , Evelyn thought, _she could stand here all day_.

She must have jinxed herself, for right after that thought crossed her mind, the Commander glanced up, and she nearly fell over when his eyes locked right on hers.

 _Guilty,_ she cursed, _so so guilty._ Caught red-handed and with nowhere to run, Evelyn straightened up and made her way closer to him.

As she approached, he cocked his head to one side and nodded in acknowledgement.

“We’ve received a number of recruits from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did,” he said, a corner of his lips rising slightly in what Evelyn hoped was a smile.

“At least I got everyone’s attention,” she blurted out without thinking. _Especially yours._

She clapped her hand to her mouth. _That_ was not what she wanted to say. She did not actually know what she would have said, but it was certainly not something so… _sassy_. It was too soon to show her true self – the snarky, boisterous one that she was sure this Commander would dislike.

His grin deepened, so slightly that she would have missed it had she not been watching him like a hawk.

“That you did,” was his reply. He sounded amused, and Evelyn sighed with relief.

He started walking, and Evelyn scrambled to keep up with his long strides. He had made no gesture to indicate that she should follow him, but she was not one to let a chance to spend more time with him go to waste.

Her efforts paid off when he began to talk again, “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising, saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

“Ser,” someone said from behind. Evelyn turned and saw a scout jogging to catch him. Cullen accepted the report but did not slow down.

Her legs pumped as she matched his speed again and strained to hear him over the clanging of swords and shields surrounding her.

“Cassandra sought a resolution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join the cause. Now it seems we face something far worse,” he continued.

He stopped, a few feet away from where they were previously. Evelyn halted before him, and held out her hand. The green glow was hidden under her gloves but she knew that they were both visualizing the crackling scar that streaked across her palm.

“I must have this mark for a reason. It will work, I’m sure of it.” She sounded more certain that she actually felt. But it was _Cullen_ and she yearned to reassure him.

He nodded, and said, “Provided we can secure aid, but I’m confident we can. The Chantry lost control of the Templars and the mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry could not. Our followers would be part of that! There is so much we could- “

He paused, and Evelyn stared at him in surprise. She had never heard him speak so heatedly before, and she was just beginning to enjoy herself and allow the deep timbre of his voice to wash over her, when he just…stopped.

He shook his head gently, “Forgive me.” _Any time,_ she thought.

“I doubt you came here for a lecture,” he continued to say.

Evelyn was startled, “No! No…but if you had one prepared, I’d _love_ to hear it.” Perhaps she should not have stressed the word ‘love’ so obviously.

Cullen looked embarrassed and chuckled nervously, “Another time, perhaps.”

Evelyn could not see herself, but the grin that appeared on her face was definitely not ladylike or sophisticated or pretty. _Oh, Maker. Stop smiling like that, you little fool._

The awful thing that she dared to call a smile on her face must have thrown the Commander off because he started shuffling and clearing his throat, and he looked very much like a cornered animal trying to escape.

“Th- there’s still a lot of work ahead,” he excused himself and looked immensely relieved when another scout approached him.      

He grabbed onto the diversion gratefully and nodded at the messenger, telling her, “As I was saying…”

He strode away, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Evelyn watched him retreating and sighed morosely to herself.

_He hated her, didn’t he?_

What a mess.


	3. From Up Close (Haven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slight detour from the in-game dialogue. I hope you don't mind reading some of the liberties I will be taking.  
> I just felt like exploring what would happen if the Inquisitor was a normal person - not some skilled fighter/mage/warrior, and what would need to be done to prepare her.

The sun hung low in the morning sky. Evelyn yawned.

Solas had knocked on her door at the break of dawn and she had spent the past few hours brandishing her staff and doing odd dances as he instructed her from the sidelines.

Now, her bones ached and her back felt like it had been snapped in half and rejoined, but Evelyn could already see the difference in the way her hands gripped the smooth length of her mage staff.

It no longer felt awkward and dangled from her hands almost naturally.

She was grateful, really. Hope had flared in her chest as she completed the complex moves Solas had shown her, and she thought that maybe she would be able to survive this after all.

She gingerly made her way to the small tavern at the corner of Haven, trying not to jolt her upper body too much to avoid the pangs that shot up her spine with every step. If she was lucky, Flissa would be awake and willing to serve her some much needed breakfast.

Suddenly, a troop of soldiers stampeded around the corner, with Cassandra leading the front, almost trampling the small mage in their path.

She huddled against the nearest cottage and breathed in, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Her jaw fell open when the rest of the soldiers appeared.

It was her Cullen.

_Sorry,_ Commander Cullen.

A few stray curls had fallen over his eyes and his fists pumped the air powerfully as he brought up the rear. He was not exactly…fully dressed. The blood in her veins pulsed at the sight.

She immediately straightened up and stood as tall as she could, not willing to let him see her cowering in fear after the poor performance she gave the day before.

Her movement caught his eye and he slowed down to a jog.

She gulped as he altered his direction and started walking briskly towards her, feeling a combination of anxiety and expectation all at the same time.

“Herald.”

‘C-commander.” Her voice cracked and she flinched.

Evelyn cleared her throat as subtly as she could.

Cullen ran a hand through his curls, drawing attention to the flex of his biceps, and the shifting of muscles under that ridged, washboard stomach of his.

His form was finely cut, wide chest narrowing into a lean waist. She could just make out the slight shimmer of perspiration coating his upper torso, and forced herself to swallow the groan that threatened to spill out.

_Really, how could she possibly be expected to carry on a conversation with him looking like this?_

She averted her eyes, and stubbornly ignored the carnal call to _look_ , to _feast_ her eyes on the delicious specimen standing before her.

“Herald?” she heard him say, concern lacing his voice.

“Yes?” She stared at a spot above his head. Keep it short and sweet. That was the only way she would survive this encounter with her dignity intact.

“Sister Leliana mentioned you might need some horseback riding lessons. I have some time now, if you are willing,” he said, frowning a little and wondering what was so fascinating above him that had her staring so.

She gasped. _Andraste’s arse. No freaking way._

Evelyn’s imagination went into overdrive. He would have to hoist her up on the horse, wouldn’t he? She couldn’t possible clamber up herself. And the thought of his bare skin pressed flushed against her, firm muscles shifting behind and around her, palms flat under her thighs to lift her up…

She could feel her heart rate speed up into a quick staccato beat.

Her mouth went dry and she just stood there, speechless.

Cullen grinned, “ _After_ I make myself presentable, of course.” He gestured to his undressed state, and Evelyn quickly flicked her eyes down but mulishly returned her gaze to fix above his head, resisting the urge to look again with whatever willpower she had left in her. “I’ll see you by the stables, my lady.”

_Was he smirking at her? Maker…the nerve of that man!_

 She made herself nod once.

His grin widened and with a quick salute, he took off after the rest of his troops.

Try as she might, Evelyn _really_ could not resist bending sideways and tilting her head to appreciate his fine-looking, absolutely delectable, perfectly shaped, round and firm –

“ARGH!” she yelled, as something tapped her lightly on her shoulder, nearly shocking her out of her own skin.

She clutched her chest in fright and turned to see Varric raise an eyebrow at her.

“Enjoying the view, Herald?”

She sputtered her denial, but the dwarf laughed it off and patted her arm. Something akin to warmth and affection filled his deep set eyes as he waved goodbye cheerily.

Evelyn huffed, her skin flushing from head to toe.

She still had to make it through the lesson with _Cullen_ and honestly, if she did not pull herself together and string a proper sentence in his presence at least once, the Commander really might decide that she was not right in the head and…

Oh, who was she kidding? Someone like him, noticing a little nobody like her? He probably thought of her as a pebble in his shoe, or if she was really lucky - an inexperienced little girl he was forced to spare precious hours to teach.

He would _never_ see her as anything more.

Evelyn kicked a stone lying near her foot and dragged herself to the stables. She should get acquainted with whatever horse she would be riding later.

She _knew_ horses, having grown up surrounded by them. But before she had a chance to actually learn to ride one, her powers had manifested and she had been sent off to the nearest Circle.

Tucking her hair up into a bun – as she had a sudden fear that the horse might mistaken the tendrils of her hair as _hay,_ and she really did not want Cullen to see her head being chewed on – she hesitantly walked up to the nearest corral.

The horse lifted its head and nickered softly at her arrival. It was a brown gelding – perfect for her first lesson. His breaths came out in heavy puffs as he nuzzled Evelyn’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, aren’t you a dear?” she cooed at him. The smell of horse, dried hay, manure and muck filled her nostrils and Evelyn suddenly felt a nagging ache for _home_.

“Try not to let me fall off, will you? No need to embarrass myself even more in front of _him_. I have that one covered all on my own,” she whispered.

The crunch of boots on snow sounded behind her and she heard him clearing his throat. The familiar sound made her insides twist as she turned around to smile shyly at the Commander.

True to his word, he had put on his complete suit of armour. He loomed over her, his fair head blocked the sun and it made him glow like an angel.

“Oh!” she gasped, “…hello.”

_Seriously, what in the Void was wrong with her?_

He gave a short laugh. “Hello. Shall we?” he asked, stretching his arm out to grasp the reins of the horse.

“O-of course.”

And topped off with a stutter. Perfect.

She tried and failed to swallow her whimper as he placed his hands around her waist. She had always been a petite little thing, but even so, she had never felt as small and light as she did when he wrapped those large hands of his around her and lifted her up effortlessly.

“ _Oh!_ ” she exclaimed softly, and then she was scrambling to place one leg over the saddle and hold onto the reins at the same time.

“Easy there…that’s it, that’s my girl,” he crooned and she gasped and tried unsuccessfully to clamp her thighs together at the sudden heat that flared between her legs.

He patted her thighs gently, and she nearly kicked him as her reflexes jumped in response to his touch.

Cullen stepped back, and she made a noise of protest.

“Don’t worry, I’ve still got you,” he soothed, holding up the reins for her to see.

She swallowed and settled down in the saddle. Now that he was not too near, sending her brain into a scrambled frenzy, she managed to gather her thoughts and surveyed the view before her.

“Wow,” she exhaled. She felt…tall. Almost as if she was standing on top of the world. The gelding was not fully grown and Cullen’s head almost reached her chest area, but Evelyn still felt like she towered over everything else.

“Oh no,” she murmured, but the Commander had sharp ears and tilted his head to her at once.

“What is it?”

“I…it’s nothing. It’s just really high up, and…oh _Maker_ ,” she squeezed her eyes shut as the ground seemed to spin beneath her.

Cullen’s hand came to rest behind her back, the warmth chasing away the sudden dizziness that engulfed her. “Deep breaths, Herald. You’ll be fine,” he said.

_Not with you touching me, I won’t,_ she thought.

Nevertheless, she did as he commanded and inhaled with all her might. Much better. Right. She could do this.

Cullen watched her as she composed herself. When he was certain she was fine to carry on, he said, “Now, squeeze your legs gently and lean forward a little.”

Evelyn tried. She really did. But those words sent a burst of lightning straight to her _already_ aching crotch, and she could not stop her blush from spreading from her ears to her face.

“Herald?” The deep rumble of his voice did nothing to halt the flush, and she gritted her teeth in frustration.

_Flaming balls, she was a bloody grown mage._

“I’m fine,” she forced out and followed his instructions. To her surprise, the gelding complied and began to walk forward slowly.

“Lower your hands a little,” he continued, “Steady…you’re doing well, Herald.”

“T-thank you, I think,” she said hesitantly, earning herself a low chuckle.

He led her down the pathway in a slow walk, letting her get used to the motions of her ride.

Evelyn was mostly silent as he taught her to turn, and then to go faster and stop, without him holding the reins for her. So much for her impressing him with her eloquence.

They came to a stop where they started, and she remained seated awkwardly. She had no idea how to get off the horse, and Cullen was looking at her expectantly.

“I can’t…I don’t know how –” she stammered.

“Forgive me. You were doing so well that I forgot it was your first lesson,” he said, reaching out to wrap his hands around her again.

He was being too kind, she thought. Still, a warm flutter spread across her chest at his words, and her skin grew hot under his touch.

“We will try again tomorrow. It won’t be long before we’ll have the Herald galloping across Thedas,” he laughed, setting her down gently on the ground.

“Evelyn.”

“Excuse me?”

She cleared her throat and made herself say, “That’s my name. I thought…I was hoping you could call me by my name. No one seems to know my name, and I…I don’t want to forget who I am.”

Cullen drew back, startled. “I did – that is, I _do_ know your name, Evelyn Trevelyan.”

It sounded so beautiful, coming from him. She shivered.

“Are you cold, Hera- Evelyn?”

Evelyn closed her eyes. _That_ was a mistake. She would be reduced to a stuttering mess each time he said her name from now on.

When she opened them, he was circling her critically.

She widened her eyes at him. “What are you doing?” she asked, glad that her voice sounded even and calm.

“You _do_ need a thicker coat. I will have to speak to the others about securing a proper wardrobe for you. Can’t have you wandering about in rags,” he muttered, smiling slightly at her.

She flushed again, and self-consciously covered herself with her arms. Cullen frowned and before she knew it, a soft coat was being wrapped around her shoulders.

Instinctively, she ducked her head and buried her nose in the fur, inhaling his scent. This time, the whimper that escaped her was louder, and she stiffened in a mild panic.

If Cullen noticed, he did not say anything. He had moved forward to pat another horse. This one was large and stood much taller. His pure black coat shined, and the horse snorted, stomping his front hooves proudly.

Evelyn shuffled up to him, pulling his coat tightly around her. She wasn’t cold at all, but this was the closest she would get to _him_ and Maker take her if she did not enjoy it to the fullest extent while she still could.

“Is that one yours?” she asked softly.

He nodded proudly, “Lionheart.”

A stallion, she noted, _of course_ he would have nothing less.

“He’s beautiful,” she said.

“Thank you,” Cullen replied kindly, his eyes twinkling as he turned to her.

“No, thank _you_. I … this has helped me. A lot. Without you, I don’t know what I would have done,” she said.

“Not at all, Herald. We asked too much of you, and did too little. It was an oversight, and it will not happen again,” he said firmly. He had slipped back to calling her by a title she neither wanted nor earned, but Evelyn did not dare to correct him again.

“I…I appreciate that. Thank you, Commander.”

The smile that he bestowed upon her kept her warm through her training sessions with Solas later that evening.

Coupled with the victory of holding a _proper_ conversation with Cullen, Evelyn almost felt invincible as she fired off spell after spell at the apostate.

Until her feet slipped in the snow and she landed on the ground with a loud thump, and her staff slid out of her grip to fall on her head with a loud _thwack_.

Solas hid a chuckle behind his hand as he helped her up.

_Oh well, baby steps_ , she thought, grinning wryly back at him.


	4. Love Notes (The Crossroads)

Varric is an author.

Evelyn mused on that fact almost obsessively as she sat at her temporary desk, in her temporary tent in the Hinterlands.

She was so tempted to delegate the task of writing reports to him, but she stubbornly resisted the urge.

She may not be good at fighting, or camping, or horse-riding, but if there was one thing she could do and do well – it was to _write_. This was the one thing she could contribute to the Inquisition, as trivial as it may be, and she was not willing to give up so easily.

It really should not be this difficult.

She furiously tore up her third draft of her day’s activities and scrunched it into a ball. Cassandra was going to murder her if she continued to waste their precious vellum like this. The Seeker had already hinted that she would like to read whatever book Evelyn seemed to be working on, raising a very sarcastic eyebrow at the number of scrolls she had been seen carrying into her tent.

She shook her head and dipped her quill into the inkpot again. In her short life, she had written journal after journal of her life as a Circle mage, she had filled in thousands of requisition papers on behalf of her Senior Enchanters, she had also been responsible for the upkeep of the Circle’s library and her literary prose should be more than sufficient for this little task.

Despite all these, she still struggled. She wanted to strike the perfect balance between appearing professional and smart, and friendly with a touch of well-placed humor. She wanted to show them that she was not useless at _everything_. She wanted to impress them with her wit and have the advisors chuckling around the War Table at her fascinating stories.

But everything she wrote was either too informal, or too uppity. She usually gave up after the tenth attempt or so and sent off whatever she had managed to put together, and then spent the rest of the night, slightly depressed at another failure.

She _really_ wanted Cullen to read her letters and think of her as more than just the Herald. Today, especially, she wanted so badly to tell him how wonderful he had been – all those hours teaching her to ride while putting up with her stunted responses and awkward attempts at making conversation, finally bore results when she completed the tasks set before her by Master Dennet’s daughter.

She broke no records and won no medals, but she had successfully finished the race tracks and survived every single obstacle without falling off and breaking her neck.

But Evelyn had never dared to write to Cullen directly. She had always addressed her letters to Leliana, and left it to the Spymaster to deliver the news to the other advisors. She always wondered if it would be appropriate to draft a separate letter just for him, but never had the courage to actually do it.

She doodled on a spare piece of parchment as she contemplated her failings in life. Beneath her idle fingers, some rough shapes of a disfigured horse and a stick man took form.

After a while, Evelyn sighed and laid down her quill. Reaching for the stack of parchment at the corner of her small desk, she pulled out the latest correspondence and scanned through the short letter for what seemed like the twentieth time that day.

Leliana’s flowery script filled half the page as she updated the Herald on the recent events in Val Royeaux and hinted that she would have to travel to Orlais soon.

Evelyn’s eyes zoomed in on one particular sentence.

_The Commander is concerned that we are not ready to approach any of the factions._

She smiled to herself.

_Cullen_ was concerned.

Tonight, she would allow herself a small fantasy and imagine that he was concerned for _her_ and not just the travelling party as a whole.

A small sigh escaped her again as she slumped over her desk. This was not a new tendency. Every letter she received from Haven was perused, examined, reread, and prodded through extensively in the privacy of her tent.

She would pause at every mention of the Commander, amid mundane details such as -  _the Commander wishes to inform the Herald that he has implemented harder drills for the recruits and is pleased at the progress they have mad._

Or completely irrelevant news such as -  _the Commander will be travelling to Redcliffe to secure deliveries from the merchants there._

Or lines that captivated her like _\- the Commander has requisitioned fifty sets of new armour and shields after receiving the iron supplies that you have accumulated and is very grateful…_

Her heart would beat slightly faster at the appearance of his name or title, and she knew that deep down she harbored illogical fantasies that Cullen may have included a note of a slightly more personal nature just for her.

Evelyn groaned, and decided to throw all caution to the wind in her next report.

_Nightingale,_

_Cassandra has successfully marked all the watchtower_ _locations on the map we have enclosed. She said that the Commander would take over from here._

_~~We have also~~ _ _They have also tracked down the terrifying wolves and slaughtered them. The lands should be safe from now on. I didn’t do much since the wolves tended to jump aggressively at whoever was attacking them, and I am still hopeless at close quarters combat, and cannot freeze a nug even if my life depended on it._

_No one needed any healing, either – so I really just stood around watching them fight._

_Same thing happened with the rifts. They did not need my help at all. At the end – all I had to do was stretch my hand out to close the tear._

_Please tell the Commander that I actually completed the set of horse-riding exercises prepared for me. I am very thankful for his lessons. Do let him know that I did not fall – not even once, and that I mounted and dismounted from that insanely large horse all on my own!_

_Also, I now have a horse. I don’t quite know what to do with him, and Cassandra said that she will care for him until we return to Haven._

_We will speak to Master Dennet to provide the Inquisition with more horses tomorrow. Cassandra will probably have to do all the talking. He is quite an intimidating man._

_I have never been to Orlais, and will be looking forward to that visit. ~~Will the Commander be traveling with us?~~_

_Send Josephine my regards, and to yourself as well._

_Yours, Evelyn._

 

The next day, the party stumbled victoriously into the campsite after Cassandra’s impassioned speech won over Master Dennet so thoroughly that he offered his own expertise to their cause. Evelyn was still teasing Varric about his astonished look back at the farm when a scout handed the Herald a couple of scrolls.

She recognized Leliana’s writing easily but her laughter stopped abruptly when she caught sight of a masculine handwriting on the other. Leliana’s missive slipped from her loose grasp to the ground.

“Bad news, Herald?” she heard Varric ask, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What?” her head snapped up and she quickly hid her new precious keepsake behind her back.

Varric was smirking at her, and handed her Leliana’s abandoned message. She was sure that he knew exactly who that letter was from and was already drawing his own conclusions.

She frowned at him, a measly attempt to discourage him from thinking further on it, and excused herself to her tent.

Holding the scroll gingerly between her fingers, she carefully unrolled it, placing as little pressure on the delicate paper as possible.

To her disappointment, the paper smelt like any other normal parchment and carried no hint of his scent.

She allowed herself time to observe the curves and loops of his handwriting, imagining in her mind the way his hands must have moved over this very same piece of paper as he wrote out his little message to her. It was just like him – tidy and precise, the letters sharp and not overtly loopy.

As she read his words, she could almost imagine the gruff Commander's voice in her head.

 

_Herald,_

_I am glad to hear you did well. When you return, we will have lessons on how to care for your new mount. I hope you have found a suitable name for it._

_Know that I am very proud of your success._

_Commander Cullen._

 

Evelyn stifled an ungainly squeal. That _darling_ man had made something so inconsequential seem like an achievement that she should be proud of. Without allowing herself to second guess her decision, she hurriedly scribbled a note for the Commander on the nearest piece of paper she could reach.

 

_~~Dear~~ _ _Commander,_

_I could not have done any of it without you._

_As I am hopeless with names, among other things, I shall leave it to you to name her._

_Thank you so much for everything._

_~~Yours,~~ _ _Evelyn._

She handed it to the soldier circling her tent and went to sleep with a large smile pasted on her face.

Days later, Cullen went about Haven with a puzzled frown after the ravens arrived. He had read the Herald's note, and was putting it aside with all his other correspondences when he caught sight of a strange doodle on the other side of it.

It was a picture of a badly drawn horse, coloured in with black ink. On closer inspection, it looked like his very own Lionheart.

Cullen squinted even more, and managed to make out the stick figure of a man wearing an absurdly furry jacket standing before the large horse.

He could not decide if he should be amused or worried.

He doubted that Evelyn had meant for him to see it, but surely she would not have been so careless as to send him this drawing by accident. Was it a hidden message? A code? Leliana had not said anything that may be a cause for worry, so he kept it in his drawer instead, meaning to ask her about it upon her return.

As for the Herald, blissfully unaware of her unintended message to the Commander, she kept Cullen's note reverently in her deepest pocket, closest to her heart as she journeyed through the Hinterlands.

It soon became creased and fragile as she made it a habit to unfold it and read his words every now and then, smiling to herself wistfully. Those simple words kept her going when she was feeling helpless, or down, or ready to call it quits.

Her antics did not go unnoticed by her other companions, although they wisely and mercifully kept their amusement to themselves and made no attempt to tease her for it.

After all, she _was_ the Herald of Andraste.

 


	5. Collections (Haven)

Evelyn lay in bed, eyes wide open and staring at the wooden ceiling above.

She was growing restless.

From the light beaming in between the door slats, and the rays peeking in from the slightly open curtains, she knew that it had been hours since the sun rose.

She had overslept again.

Not that it mattered much. In the past few days, all the iron chunks had been mined, and elfroot stalks had been harvested.

She even bloodied her hands skinning a couple of unfortunate nugs to make blankets for the children in Haven.

The chests that scattered Haven had been thoroughly ransacked and she had dumped a pile of rusty weapons on Threnn’s desk.

She had completed all the tasks set out for her, and there was nothing left to do.

Hopefully, it should stop the Quartermaster from petitioning her for iron and sending her out on errands to locate logging stands and Maker knows what else.

Evelyn still cringed as she recalled the way Cullen looked at her when she presented him with a creased map of Haven. She had spent most of the previous morning trudging around in deep snow, staring at the map Josephine had provided her, and yet walking around in circles without any sightings of logs or huts or civilization.

It was a miracle she made it back to the village alive.

By the fifth time she found herself back where she started, Evelyn’s patience had run dry and she swallowed her pride and strode up to the Commander. It was not that she was looking for an excuse to speak to him, since she would rather have asked _Cassandra_ for help. But the Seeker was nowhere to be seen, and Cullen was _right there_ and she was already so, so exhausted…

So she banished her shame, and held out the abused piece of parchment to him. Cullen looked taken aback for a few seconds, but regained his footing quickly enough when he realized she needed help with Inquisition business.

“Something you needed, Herald?” he had asked.

“Y-yes. I’m trying to find this,” she pointed to one of the ‘X’s marked in red, “Could you point me in the right direction?”

“Of course,” he replied, surprise tinged his voice slightly. His gloved finger started tracing a route along the map and Evelyn found herself mesmerized at the gentle way he moved. He had beautiful fingers and she was just imagining that same finger tracing patterns on her bare skin, when she heard him say, “Herald?”

She jolted out of her reverie faster than lightning and forced herself to look at him innocently.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Cullen looked a little puzzled, but he cleared his throat and began showing her the way again. “Follow this pathway until you see the river-bend, then –”

“I’m sorry, uh – where _is_ that pathway?”

He glanced at her, a startled look flashing across his face before it was replaced with a dawning realization. She twitched uncomfortably, he must be remembering her incompetence at navigation.

“Oh,” he muttered, “Of course.”

He lightly touched her shoulder and gestured towards a break in the trees outside of Haven.

“Follow that path, until you reach the river. Take a right, and you should see the hut that Adan’s mentor used to live in. On the left, you should see a clearing for the logging stand.”

His breath had been warm on the back of her neck, and she was forced to suppress her shiver. Even now, in the confines of her bed, the memory of his closeness made her squirm with a need for _more._

More what? Conversations? Touch? To know him better? She honestly did not know why she still _hoped_. He had been nothing but professional, turning a blind eye to her propensity to blush and stumble around him.

Evelyn opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling again. She puffed her cheeks and watched the mist swirl as she exhaled. When he revealed that he knew the exact reasons why she was out wondering the wilderness, she had felt a surge of _something._ She had not informed anyone else of her other jobs, after all.

But of course Cullen would know what she was up to. He was one of the council advisors. Threnn and Adan and Harritt probably reported her movements to him regularly. She did not know if she was delighted at the prospect that he was keeping such a close watch on her, or horrified at the thought that he did not trust her – either questioning her loyalties, or her ability to survive in the wilderness.

She shook her head and swung her legs out of bed. It was time to rise. Everyone else were probably already on their way to lunch and she did not want to show up after the kitchens had cleared up all the food again. The last time that happened, she had been too shy to approach the chef for food, and had decided to go hungry until dinner. It had been torture. She had been sheltered in the Circle all her life, and never had to miss a meal before. She never knew hunger could decapitate a person that way.

Shouts caught her attention the moment she stepped out of the little hut she slept in. Making her way quickly to the source of the clamoring, she caught sight of the tall Commander shoving apart two men who were in the middle of what looked like a brawl.

“Knight-Captain!” Cullen was holding back a man she recognized to be a Templar forcefully with just one arm. The other arm was on the shoulder of an incensed-looking mage.

He glared at the templar, “That is _not_ my title. We are not templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition!”

She could hear the indignation in his voice and sense the heat in his words from all the way across the yard.

The crowd made way and retreated slightly as he gestured at the offenders angrily. Only one lone form was brave enough to approach him.

The cleric she recognized from the day she was taken prisoner spoke up, “And what does that mean, exactly?”

Cullen eyed him with obvious dislike, and gritted out, “Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

Chancellor Roderick ignored his question, saying instead, “I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.”

“Of course you are,” Cullen replied with a voice that dripped with sarcasm.

Evelyn felt her brows rise in unison at his tone and tucked it into a corner of her memory. She had built quite an impressive catalogue of Cullen’s habits – the way he spoke, his smiles, the different looks in his eyes.

Today, she would add that drawling _sarcasm_ and that adorable wrinkle that appeared between his brows as he frowned.

She hoped that one day, she would be lucky enough to see and feel and be the recipient of so much _more..._

She jumped, when Cullen yelled “Back to your duties, all of you!”, glaring at the milling and muttering crowd.

Evelyn almost turned to go - the order her Commander issued reverberating in her bones. But on second thought, she stiffened and looked back at him. His eyes were flashing dangerously and he crossed his arms, shuffling his weight around as he squared his shoulders impressively.

He _towered_ over Chancellor Roderick, and was looking down his perfect nose at the cleric.

So Evelyn ran up to them, keen on…protecting the Commander? She didn’t know what her purpose was exactly, she just knew that she did not like the thought of him being left alone with that rodent of a man.

Although Cullen was probably more than capable of holding his own against him, and it was more likely that he would end up protecting _her_ instead.

And she _really_ should stop letting her thoughts wander because she was missing out on enjoying Cullen dressing down the annoying cleric person.

She tuned into their conversation as she walked closer to them. To her surprise, he seemed to be patiently explaining the Inquisition’s agenda to the doubtful man.

“Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death-”

 “-Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order,” the Chancellor interrupted.

Cullen scoffed, appearing to lose his wafer-thin patience, “Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the conclave?”

Evelyn gasped. His voice had taken on the most acerbic tone she’d ever heard from him.

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called Herald of Andraste? I think not.”

She gave him her most fearsome glare at that, and said, “So far, you’re the only one who’s insisted we can’t work together.”

He was not to be defeated, however, and replied, “We might, if your Inquisition would recognize the Chantry’s authority.”

“There is no authority until another Divine is chosen,” Cullen reminded him, not too kindly.

Evelyn was gazing at him in slight awe. This man brought out the scorn in her Commander almost effortlessly. Cullen was always so unfailingly polite, at least in her presence.

Then Evelyn thought she must be daft, for how else did she suppose he went about commanding troops if he were so _nice_ all the time?

“Centuries of tradition…” Chancellor Roderick began.

Evelyn tuned him out, already rather offended by his opinions and looked at her handsome advisor.

“Remind me why you’re allowing the Chancellor to stay?” she made her disdain evident.

“Clearly your templar knows where to draw the line,” the cleric piped up.

Oh for Maker’s sake. This man did _not_ know when to shut up. _Yes, my templar, you slimy old man, not yours to taunt or bother or…_

Her glare at him intensified.

“He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth,” Cullen said.

She pointedly turned away from Roderick and gave Cullen a weak smile. The sarcasm in his voice disappeared as he continued, “The Chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

And…he was all business, again. Not that she minded, she quite liked his aura of authority and power when he was in Commander mode, but she also treasured the scant few moments that he let his guard down.

Each time he let his serious mask slip, and smiled at her, or laughed at her - it was _those_ moments that she held on to, and stored away in her memory bank.

Chancellor Roderick sighed, “You think we don’t care about the truth? We _all_ grieve Justinia’s loss.”

For a moment, Evelyn thought she saw a glimpse of sorrow in the Chancellor’s face.

“But you won’t grieve if the Herald of Andraste is conveniently swept under a carpet,” Cullen condemned. By his tone, she _knew_ he would never let that happen, and her heart skipped a beat at the veiled protectiveness in his words.

She beamed at him, and said, “Well, let’s hope we find solutions, and not a cathedral full of chancellors.”

And she was rewarded with a sardonic, “The stuff of nightmares.” The corner of his lips – the one with the attractive scar, quirked up in a slight smile.

_There, there it is! Another one for her gallery of Cullen-isms._

He nodded at her respectfully, and stalked away from them. Evelyn ignored the disdainful glances that the Chancellor was leveling her way and crowed in delight at her _first_ successful attempt at banter with the Commander.

She did not stammer even once, _and_ she had made him smile! A little. Sort of. At another person’s expense. But still…

_Small victories,_ she thought, and practically skipped away, leaving Chancellor Roderick staring after her in bemusement.

* * *

 

Luncheon was a simple affair – typical Fereldan stew and chunky bread with cheese. Evelyn topped it off with a small pear and hopped onto the low walls that surrounded Haven’s little village. The wind was calm on this day, and she tilted her face towards the sun rays to feel its warmth.

She wandered along the length of the wall and kicked her boots high in the air as she walked. The buckles on her feet shone back at her and she smiled with pride. Cullen had stayed true to his word, and barely a full day after their first horse-riding lesson, Josephine had presented her with three different outfits to wear under her mage robes.

Her favourite pieces were the boots that had been polished to a shine in a beautiful shade of brown, and gloves in the same colour – so much like her Commander’s.

She should really speak to him soon.

After the whole scuffle with Roderick (she _might_ be exaggerating), she should check in with him to make sure he was not affected by the cleric’s nonsensical lecture.

To be honest, she really wanted him to smile at her again, or tell her a joke, or offer her a chance to make him laugh.

She loved the way he laughed – more of a chuckle, and it rumbled from deep within his chest before spilling out from his lips in a rough, husky timbre.

 The short interlude they shared earlier had made her day – even the stuffy cleric could not dampen her joy, and she was selfish enough to hope for just a little bit more before she started training with Solas again in the evening.

Evelyn dropped off the other side of the wall and made her way to the training grounds. She heard the swords singing and shields clanking before she saw his familiar form surveying his troops.

He was already looking at her. Startled, the remnants of her pear fell out of her grasp. Evelyn stared at it in horror – she had just finished nibbling the skin off the juicy bits and she had not even had the chance to sink her teeth into the fruit properly, before remembering that Cullen was watching.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to ignore her poor, abandoned fruit, and adopted what she hoped looked like an unaffected saunter as she approached him.

“Good day, Commander,” her voice was firm and unwavering.

“Herald.”

She debated if she should remind him of her name, but then decided against it. Having her knees buckle in front of him too often would be detrimental to her reputation.

Cullen was still staring at her expectantly.

_Bollocks._ In her haste to approach him, she had failed to think of what she would say to him.

“Have you had lunch?” she asked, the first thing that came to mind.

He nodded, and continued waiting with a raised eyebrow.

The stocky dwarf came to mind, as she had been sitting with him over lunch.

“Varric’s from Kirkwall. Did you two know each other?”

“I knew he was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, but little else. We’ve spoken more since I joined the Inquisition, largely at Varric’s insistence,” he replied good-naturedly.

Evelyn listened intently. He was really too patient for his own good. If anyone had come up to her, and started speaking about something so random and irrelevant and useless, she would have sent them packing with flames lighting their arse.

“Apparently, I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face and it’s bad for my health,” finished Cullen with a shrug.

_But it does wonders for your mysterious, tall, handsome image you are not trying to portray._

Outwardly, she nodded. Her mind continued to race, seeking for something she could talk about.

_Why does Varric call you ‘Curly’?_ No, she should save that one for another time. It seemed like a personal thing, and it would be nice to see his professionalism melt into some bluster for once.

Before she could ask another question, Cullen motioned to a scout waiting at the side and excused himself with something akin to relief.

She clucked her tongue bemusedly. Was she _annoying_ him?

The bells chimed, and she cursed. Her little detour had made her late for her training with Solas, and that apostate tended to get broody whenever Evelyn failed to live up to his expectations.

She cast one last, longing glance at the busy Commander and then ran helter-skelter back into the village – offering a rather comical sight of the supposed Holy Symbol of Andraste to those lucky enough to witness it.


	6. Val Royeaux

She _might_ have underestimated what awaited her in the Orlesian capital.

By a vast margin.

Her sojourn to Hinterlands had gone smoothly in comparison.

At least the Revered Mother had seemed to mellow after being knocked down by the templar. She had never seen _anyone_ physically hit an old lady before, and it had left her gaping like a fool as Cassandra leapt up to help her to her feet.

Evelyn shook her head in disappointment as she walked into the Chantry, sneaking peeks at the Seeker beside her.

Cassandra had been especially quiet on the return journey from Orlais.

Evelyn had a thousand questions at the tip of her tongue – who were the merchants in Val Royeaux, who wrote the funny notes that were written beneath the statues, the history behind the docks, the pretty pavilions and giant doors that surrounded the scenic courtyard. It was the first time she had ventured into Orlais, and the delicate structures and exotic culture had piqued her own inquisitiveness. Everything had been so _pretty,_ and fairy-like and…

However, following the disaster that heralded their arrival, and the Lord Seeker’s sudden and shocking stance, Cassandra withdrew into her own thoughts throughout their journey home.

Besides, the Seeker still intimidated the Void out of her. She had tried once to extend a hand of friendship, and was encouraged when Cassandra talked of her childhood and family.

Then, Evelyn just _had_ to open her mouth and say, “So…you’re a princess?”

And Cassandra huffed a disgusted ‘Urgh’ and resumed her training, which was really just whacking the straw of out the straw dummies.

So she kept her distance out of respect, and a smidgeon of fear. Many times she had wanted to close the distance between them and reach out to comfort the intimidating Nevarran, but they were nowhere near that level of friendship, so she had abstained.

Her advisors were awaiting their return patiently, greeting her the moment they entered the cavernous hall of the chantry.

Evelyn tore her eyes away from Cassandra and let them fall on the Commander. He had come to a stop in front of them, feet spread apart and arms crossed as he looked to Cassandra to speak first.

She stepped back to allow Cassandra to begin filling the advisors in on what transpired at Val Royeaux and appraised Cullen from top to bottom appreciatively.

 “It’s a shame the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the Capital,” Cullen’s remark pulled her from her own thoughts.

Disappointment laced his voice and his brows were pulled tightly into a frown. He must be as taken aback as Cassandra was over the recent defection led by the Lord Seeker himself.

She remembered how proud he had been of the Templar Order.

_I was a templar,_ he had said during their very first meeting, _I know what they’re capable of._

Trying to be of some comfort, she said, “At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now.”

But the Commander was not a man who would seek comfort from prettily dressed opinions, and he did not return her tentative smile.

Cassandra spoke up, “Do we?  Lord Seeker Lucius is _not_ the man I remember.” Her indignation was plain for all to see.

Leliana agreed, “True. He has taken the Order somewhere. But to do what? My reports have been…very odd.”

The Spymaster’s words brought no reassurance, and Cullen said, “We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

Evelyn felt greatly heartened by the confidence in his tone. She had no love to spare for templars, but she did not dislike them either. She had never been in any trouble with them back at the Circle, having always behaved herself and kept out of their way. But Cullen’s concern for them was overwhelming, and she was glad to think that his sworn brothers were still safe, for his sake.

Then Josephine said, “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

At this, Cullen glanced at her with a slight scowl, “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!”

Josephine held her ground admirably, and Evelyn fought her own instinct to shrink back at the intensity in his words.

She did not like to see him upset, but she also did not dare to step closer to him, for fear she combusted at the aura of authority that radiated from him at that moment. An irritated Cullen was truly fearsome, but it also made something within her purr at the absolute masculinity he exuded in those moments.

Just as long as it was not directed to her.

“I could at least find out what the mages want,” she said, more meekly than intended.

“No doubt what they’ve always wanted: Support for their cause.” It was Cassandra who disagreed this time.

Evelyn turned her gaze from the ex-templar to the Seeker, noting the similar way they clenched their jaws and tilted their chins defensively.

Josephine offered mildly, “We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe. The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They are powerful, Ambassador, but more desperate than you realize,” Cassandra refuted.

Evelyn stifled a scoff, “So it will be dangerous. I’ve been in danger since I walked out of the Fade.”

The Maker truly did have a sense of humour after all – placing the saving grace of the whole of Thedas in the hands of the most timid mage alive. _Literally._

Cassandra shook her head, “If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave –“

“The same could be said about the templars,” Josephine interrupted.

Evelyn shuffled her feet restlessly as they argued. She was very aware of the Commander’s piercing eyes on her. The sweat and mud that caked her travelling robes were beginning to overpower her senses under his appraisal. The grease in her hair clung to her cheeks. She tried not to let her discomfort show.

She was tired, filthy, aching all over from the long ride home. She may have been able to sit atop a horse without falling, but that did not mean her muscles have been fully accustomed to the demanding hours spent riding home to Haven.

She was certainly in no mood to watch the powerful heavyweights butting heads in front of her while she had nothing to offer.

When she dared to chance a quick glance at him, his lips were curved up in a _very_ slight smile at her – tender yet pitying. She shook her head to rid herself of the prickling tingles that ran up her spine from his intense gaze.

After a while, he spoke, eyes still not leaving her, “True enough. Right now, I’m not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely.”

That effectively ended the debate, and the advisors started to drift away. His gaze _still_ did not relent, and she almost snapped from the pressure. _She_ was supposed to be the one staring at him, and not the other way around. With a final nod at her, he turned and made his way out of the Chantry.

Evelyn allowed herself to sag to the ground.

Clearly, he favored the templars, despite ending the meeting on such a neutral note.

 Every fibre of her being _yearned_ to heed his desire, to agree to campaign for their support.

Could she truly turn her back on her fellow mages? Evelyn did not know. She would go to Redcliffe to find out what exactly was going on. Then, and only then, would they be able to make an informed decision on who to approach.

But first, a bath, once she regained enough strength to stand again.

* * *

The Inquisition advisors had graciously allowed their Herald to remain in Haven for a couple of days to rest before undertaking the short journey to Redcliffe. Evelyn had made the request boldly – certain that she would not survive getting back on a horse so soon after riding to and back from Val Royeaux in such a short time frame.

Cullen yielded with a clenched jaw and curt nod, no doubt running timelines and potential backlashes from the delay in his mind, while Leliana held her gaze stoically - her own facial expression giving nothing away.

Only Josephine’s eyes betrayed a hint of remorse at the hard pace they were putting her through, and Evelyn later found a box of Orlesian pastries in her little cottage from the ambassador.

She eagerly made use of her free time by wandering around the tents that dotted the little village. Her inquisitive nature prompted her to engage many of the people in conversation, although most were glad to give her a wide berth.

Evelyn was happily talking to a templar named Lysette, questioning her on everything under the sun, when a miserable thought occurred to her.

In her Circle, there had been fraternization among the templars. Of course, her elderly Knight-Commander had remained above it all, watching over his flock with a critical eye, only stepping in when a templar’s attention strayed beyond the Order to land on the other mages.

It was common.

She swallowed nervously as her mind began entertaining thoughts of Cullen participating in such frivolities. Cullen was not elderly and was in fact at the peak of his prime, but surely…surely the serious and dedicated Commander would not seek his pleasure this way?

Lysette was pretty –strong, lean and above all, kind. She was Cullen’s type of girl, understood his principles, and Evelyn was finding it hard not be jealous. What if she shared his bed every night, while Evelyn shivered alone in some Maker-forsaken tent in the dark wilderness?

And she was _always_ hovering around him - not training, not instructing, but standing nearby within his reach, day after day.

After the unpleasant idea claimed her thoughts, she spent the afternoon observing them from a distance. It was difficult to ignore Cullen’s curious glances that came her way every once in a while. He would definitely be wondering if she chose to delay their excursion to Redcliffe in favor of lazily lounging about in the sun.

It was a struggle to force herself to stay still instead of running off to explain in person why her strained back and sore backside needed a break, and to _please_ not think too little of her weaknesses.

By late evening, Evelyn felt slightly better. Lysette did not make any overtures to the Commander and Cullen barely spared her a glance. But could it be that they were merely keeping up appearances, throwing suspicious people like herself off their scent?

She could not take this anymore.

She _had_ to ask.

Armed with her box of pastries – a peace offering in case she inevitably stepped out of line, Evelyn strode up to him with more confidence than she actually felt.

There was a certain air of expectation surrounding him as she came to a stop before him, almost as if he had been waiting for her to approach him the whole day.

She cleared her throat and dived straight into her topic of choice.

“Is it strange to be away from the Circle, after so long?”

He cocked his head to one side, “It does, at times. I’m still getting used to it myself. It’s been…interesting.”

He frowned, “I’m sorry. The Circle isn’t the most pleasant topic of conversation right now, or ever. Shall we speak of something else?”

This was not going well. She tried again.

“Er – I’d like to know more about templars.”

Which was a stupid thing to say. She had spent her whole life being watched over by them. He would see right through her at once.

“If you need insight into what the Order is doing now, I’m afraid I can’t offer more than you already know. Anything else, I will answer as best I can.”

“Why did you join the Order?” She asked – both as an opening to her intended question and a sincere desire to know more about him.

“I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. I used to beg the templars at our local Chantry to teach me. At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise, or at least a willingness to learn.”

This was going to be the death of her. As if Cullen in all his masculinity was not enough, now she had images of him as a young boy with golden curls, running around the village with a wooden sword and prodding fully grown templars with it.

She listened intently, every morsel of knowledge she could glean of him, his background, his likes and dislikes were little nuggets of gold to her.

“I was thirteen when I left home,” he finished.

“Thirteen? That’s still so young!” she exclaimed, “What about your family – did you miss them?”

“Of course, but there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another.”

She nodded, desperately thinking how to broach the issue of fraternization among templar ranks.

“Do…do templars do anything besides guard mages?”

She might be mistaken, but Cullen did seem to eye her a little more suspiciously after that.

“Templars protect against the dangers of magic. Before the Order left the Chantry, that meant serving in a Circle,” he said firmly. “They were also tasked with tracking apostates or fighting demons inevitably summoned by the weak or malicious.”

Evelyn resisted a huff of frustration. _She knew all of that._ And the disdain in his voice when he spoke of mages prickled at her senses. She could not stop herself from asking, “What do you think of mages? Are they all a threat?”

She must have relayed a hint of accusation in her tone for Cullen’s reply was almost apologetic.

“I’ve seen the suffering magic can inflict. I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it – at times without cause. That was…unworthy of me. I will try not to do so here.”

She smiled at him kindly, even when he was quick to add, “We need safeguards in place to protect people – including mages – from possession, at least.”

That statement aroused her curiosity – it was not made off-handedly, but it sounded as though he had put a lot of thought into it. Evelyn squinted up at him and said tentatively, “I know how I spent my time in the Circle, but what was a typical day for a templar?”

She did not expect him to snort in derision. “Typical? The last time I was in a Circle was right before it fell apart. Nothing was typical.”

He listlessly recited the usual tasks that Evelyn was familiar with. None of it explained the clouded shadow that crossed his face at the first mention of his time in the Circle. She vaguely remembered someone mentioning Cullen being stationed at Kinloch Hold. That was one of the Circles that fell during the Blight. If Cullen had been there…not many had made it out alive.

She tore her mind from the nasty possibilities and listened patiently as he began expounding on the basics of templar training.

“Did you enjoy your training?” she asked.

“I wanted to learn everything. If I was giving my life to this, I would be the best templar I could.”

She smiled at that, it was so like _Cullen_. “You were a model student,” she teased.

Cullen gave her a short laugh. “I wanted to be. I wasn’t always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfiguration wasn’t the most exciting task. I admit, my mind sometimes wandered.”

_To what? To another pretty templar? Or a mage?_

Her curiosity got the better of her. Evelyn gave up all pretenses and asked frankly, “Do templars take vows?‘I swear to The Maker to watch all mages’- That sort of thing?”

The unsuspecting Commander continued to humor her. ““There’s a vigil first. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter- your first draught of lyrium- and its power. As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgment. Our lives belong to The Maker and the path we have chosen.”

This was it. This was her chance.

She licked her lips and opened her mouth, “A life of service and sacrifice. Are templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?”

Cullen’s professional demeanor cracked a little. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she felt a blush creeping up her neck.

“Physical? Why –“he paused to clear his throat uncomfortably, “Why would you- That’s not expected. Templars can marry, although there are rules around it, and the order must grant permission.  Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it’s, um, not required.”

He shifted around on his feet, clearly wishing he could escape and probably would have – had she not been the Herald.

Evelyn pressed on stubbornly, “Have _you_?”

Cullen looked even more taken aback. His skin began to look flushed and almost matched the pinkness of her cheeks.

“Me? I… um… no, I’ve taken no such vows,” he stuttered, “Maker’s breath. Can we speak of something else?”

Evelyn coughed and said, “That’s all I wanted to know. Thank you.”

Great, now he would think that she delayed their trip to Redcliffe just to ask him horribly inappropriate questions. She gave him a tiny wave and took her leave quickly, her box of pastries still unopened in her hands.

She had finally succeeded in flustering him, although it came at the cost of her own dignity. She was no closer to finding out if Lysette or any other female templars had captured his heart. But if Cullen blushed at the mere mention of ‘physical temptations’, then perhaps he was not the assured Adonis that he seemed to portray as he strutted around the village in his Commander mode?

Perhaps, she was being a little unreasonable when it came to Lysette. She smiled to herself and holed up in her room the rest of the day, happily indulging in her box of pastries.

Tomorrow, she would prepare for Redcliffe. Thedas could wait for one more day.


	7. Even Though You Were A Templar (In Hushed Whispers)

If only she was better at magic.

If only she had brothers or sisters to prank.

Evelyn wanted to turn her horse around and tell Madame De Fer to shut her mouth as politely as she could.

She wanted to order the yelping elf named Sera to stand down and gag her with one of their oil rags.

But she did not dare risk waking up frozen in ice like that Marquis’ son or finding a hole in her tent canvas the next morning. If she had been better with her skills, she may have talked herself into doing it. But alas, it would not do to cry over spilled milk.

It was all Josephine’s fault, she grumbled to herself.

Madame de Fer invited herself into the Inquisition ranks during their short visit to her salon. She was more intimidating than Cassandra, and Evelyn felt awfully cowed in her presence although she tried her hardest not to let that show. Sera, a slight little elf, had no such hesitation. The spry thing leapt and waddled and poked around the Iron Lady fearlessly, and their never-ending spiels on propriety and magic and nobles almost drove her mad.

Evelyn growled low in her throat, _all Josephine’s fault_ , she reminded herself. A vain attempt at preserving her sanity. The Ambassador had cleverly insisted that she brought the newcomers along with her – _to inspire camaraderie and loyalty among the ranks._

A load of horseshit, she thought. The only thing this trip managed to inspire was even more daydreams of the resplendent Commander who sat in the majestic castle, miles away, yearning for her return.

Yes, Evelyn had spent an inordinate amount of time riding firmly ahead of the others. Her isolation led to numerous fantasies and new scenarios of Cullen calling her his _little moonflower_ and professing his love for her under the starry night sky.

All these had effectively relegated the bickering pair to the back of her mind.

_Too effective_ , if she was to be honest, looking straight ahead to hide her flushed cheeks.

As she rode along, still struggling a little to balance herself on horseback, she caught glimpses of the spiraling tower of Kinloch Hold on the way, and her mind flew to what Cullen had vaguely mentioned of his time there.

What happened? The tower looked unassuming and innocent, set against the pretty horizon in the middle of the lake. Had he been caught in the middle of the uprising? What happened to his other templar brothers, the ones he spoke of as his family? How did he escape? Why did it torment him so?

Why had he distrusted mages so completely?

She finally got her answer when she met Alexius. She began to understand what Cullen feared. She had never met a _bad_ mage, but this magister definitely struck all the wrong chords in her conscience. His power pulsed around them - raw and unfettered, clawing at the thin Veil, and was definitely rotten to the core.

Vivenne’s utter disregard for Alexius made it easier to tamper her fear. Sera blew raspberries and stuck her tongue out behind his back, and Evelyn found that concentrating on her antics made the shredded Veil seem further away.

Still, she could not get away from him fast enough. Half a day later, she left Redcliffe with more questions than answers, riding back into the welcoming arms of Haven with barely concealed relief.

The council gathered immediately. Their faces were grave as they listened to her account of the rebel mages. Cassandra made no attempt to hide her disgust at Grand Enchanter Fiona’s decision.

She allowed her eyes to roam the room, but kept returning to where Cullen stood.

From the lines weathering Cullen’s face, she knew that he felt the same concerns she was feeling.

Everything was too coincidental, and at the same time, none of the puzzles fit. Grand Enchanter Fiona knew nothing of their supposed ‘meeting’ in Val Royeaux. The supposed allies they had garnered in the form of Felix and Dorian were…unknown entities.

The invitation from Alexius held more threat than promise of aid.

Every sign they had pointed to it being a trap.

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled _thousands_ of assaults,” Cullen was saying vehemently in the War Room.

Evelyn scrunched her nose, slightly worried. The Commander would know, she thought, he was the expert on military excursions after all.

Before she could say anything, he continued, “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts.” Cullen’s voice was gravelly as he spoke, “I won’t allow it.”

His eyes met hers across the War Table. The dark circles beneath them stood out, the wrinkles in his forehead were even more pronounced.

The Commander did not look well. Despite the concern she felt, Evelyn could not tamper the tendrils of heat that carved their way across her pounding heart.

He spoke of her as if she were a _thing_ , a means to an end, yet the whimsical part of her swooned at the thought of a handsome and strong knight being concerned over her safety.

“I cannot let the mages remain indentured to a corrupt magister from Tevinter, Commander,” she injected as much courage into her voice as she could muster. Beneath the table, her legs were quaking with fear.

Marching into a well-guarded fortress without the backing of an army? Facing a fully-trained magister powerful enough to bring rebel mages into submission, with her half-baked spells and jumpy nerves? It was a recipe for disaster. She would never make it out of there _alive._

Mercifully, Dorian showed up with his knowledge of Alexius and the guard rosters. Leliana recalled a long forgotten passageway into the heart of the castle.

Evelyn felt a spark of hope flare in the depths of her heart, as she listened raptly to the plan they hatched.

Cassandra and Varric would accompany her this time. The Seeker would be instrumental in dispelling Alexius’ magic, and the dwarf’s natural resistance to spells would hopefully balance the battle in their favor.

As they delved into the theories of Tevinter magic and the remnants of blood magic lingering in the castle from long ago, Evelyn swallowed the urge to panic. Cullen still looked worried, and his gaze kept flitting towards her, as if unsure of her ability to carry their plan out.

She could not let him see the same doubts reflected in her eyes.  She had to appear strong. She had to earn to his respect. She needed to make him proud.

By the grace of Andraste, they would succeed in this.

* * *

Wet, soggy, socks squished with each step she took. The dank, damp cellars of the castle chilled and made her shiver. Her staff clanked uselessly beside her, on hard stone floors - awash with dirt and dust and who knows what else. She did not want to look too closely.

Maybe Cullen had been right, maybe she should have gone to the templars instead.

What sort of _shit_ magic was this? She had never come across such spells that would allow the disruption of time itself. Had she been so ignorant in the Circle? So intent on records and healing spells and inventories that the darker side of magic eluded her so completely?

Thank the Maker Dorian fell into that portal with her. She would have been gutted alive by the guards were it not for him.

They found Cassandra and Varric – bloodshot eyes and pale skin. And then she almost collapsed at the sight of dear, darling Leliana – gnarled, _old_ , and almost withered before her very eyes.

_Where was Cullen?_ She did not want to find him in one of these cells, chained and tortured, his strong body battered by being forced fed red lyrium. Not her precious Commander, not her Cullen.

Please. _Maker,_ please.

Summoning up stamina that she never knew she had, she ran from cell to cell, peering in with dread in her heart. A seemingly innocent piece of parchment sat on a desk in one abandoned study. Varric signaled to her to read it, his shoulders hunched and mouth drooping with sorrow.

Evelyn picked it up with trembling fingers.

_-Alexius keeps asking for patrols of the walls. Waste of time, if you ask me. The Inquisition ground themselves to a pulp against the walls ages ago. Ferelden made three attempts to lay siege here before the last life got crushed out of them. Who’s left out there to threaten us? The mountain barbarians? But Alexius seems to expect a siege. Man’s gone completely mad.-_

Cullen was right. Redcliffe Castle was the most defensible fortress around. He must have…he _surely_ gave his life trying to bring Alexius down. There is no longer an Inquisition. _Cullen,_ her precious Cullen, was no longer alive.

She struggled. Her mind fought to reason with all of these. _This is not real. It hasn’t happened. He can’t be dead._

Try as she might, she failed to hold her tears at bay. Her eyes brimmed until they burned, her face wrinkled until she looked like one of those deformed Orlesian hats that was currently in fashion. And yet, two loud, gut-wrenching sobs filled the air. It sounded like a bronto belching.

Dorian watched her from the doorway, hands gripping his staff as he maintained his guard.

_No. No. No._ She gulped in deep breaths, praying that no other ridiculous sounds would escape her. Not in front of a handsome Tevinter mage she barely knew.

Dorian’s eyes were filled with pity. “We can still change this. This timeline does not have to happen,” he counseled patiently.

When she still did not move, he sternly said, “But we must go. _Now_ , Trevelyan.”

She scrambled up clumsily, nodding and rubbing her sniveling nose with a dirty sleeve.

Yes, they had to remove the mages from Alexius’ command. Only then, would she be able to save Cullen, and the Inquisition and the whole of Ferelden.

To this day, she had no idea what gave her such strength to fight Alexius, other than the renewed determination surging through her soul.

For once, she actually made a difference.

Her barriers surrounded them as they fought Alexius, her fireballs disrupted more than one demon ambush, and her healing spells were the only sustenance that kept them going when their potions were all used up.

Evelyn Trevelyan, daughter of a Free Marches noble, made a difference.

She did not flinch when Leliana sliced open Felix’s throat to get the amulet. She did not look back when Cassandra and Varric sacrificed themselves for her escape. She did not hesitate when Leliana’s cry of pain reached her ears. She stepped through the portal with her shoulders thrown back, seething at Alexius’ cruelty.

Laying eyes on the despicable being after she tumbled out of the portal, she condemned him as a prisoner without thinking twice, rage burning through her veins as he crumbled before her.

Evelyn did not bow when King Alistair marched in with a contingent of guards, stoic and angry, regal and forbidding.

Her voice did not quaver as she dictated the terms of their new alliance to the mages.

She was the _Herald_ – their salvation and their cause.

It was not until the King stalked out of the throne room that her composure cracked a little. Evelyn swallowed fearfully.

Cullen would _not_ be happy to hear of the offer she made to the mages. What would he say? She had just committed the mages into the Inquisition - the very thing he had vehemently opposed.

Still, it is a small price to pay than to lose him to a hopeless siege against an impenetrable fortress in the future.

* * *

All bravado and excuses deserted her the moment she stepped into the Chantry. She had begged for time to wash up quickly, eager to be cleansed of the lingering sense of wrong magic and slip her aching feet into dry socks. But it could not be put off any longer. It was time to face the music, to see the Commander's gaze of contempt at what she had done.

She dragged her boots across the stone floor. The voices of the advisors floated up to her, raised and angry.

“It is not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!” At the Commander’s words, Evelyn flinched. Her heart sank to the bottom of her muddy boots as she made her way to them. She frowned. She had completely forgotten about her boots during her quick wash. If only she had taken some more time to clean them...

Josephine’s usually calm tones were agitated, “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.”

Cullen spotted her and turned. He loomed over her, features twisted in accusation.

“What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”

A gasp involuntarily escaped her. She had expected his rage, she had braced herself for it. But still her ears turned red with shame and she had to fight the urge to turn on her heels and run out of the Chantry.

_Nothing_ could have prepared her to actually hear the biting condescension in his usually calm, tender voice directed at her.

It was humiliating, unacceptable, irresponsible for a woman of her position to react this way to his accusations.

Why did she crave his approval so?

Evelyn clenched her fists at her side, not daring to open her mouth. She was not sure if she would lash out at the handsome Commander in fury, or begin wailing and sniveling just because he was scowling at her. Neither outcome would be tolerable, and she was _this close_ to giving in to one or the other, so she bit her lower lip until it bled.

They stood there in silence, looking at her. She dug her nails into her fists and focused on the swaying tapestry behind the group. The worn threads looked like fragments of her own mind - pulled thin and tattered, barely holding it together.

_Stop,_ she wanted to say, _stop yelling at me. You cannot be all warm and caring one second, and then cold and angry the next! Am I not a mage? Is an abomination all you can see when you look at me?_

That thought almost made the tears she held in spill over and she swallowed the unbecoming words, calmly saying instead, “We need them to close the Breach. It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”

“I _know_ we need them for the Breach. But they could do as much damage as the demons themselves,” he stated firmly. At least he was no longer yelling.

_Demons. Abominations._ This is all she would be to him. Something to watch, something to guard, something to slay should it all go wrong.

_Am I not human too, Cullen?_

She did not hear Cassandra arguing in her favor, nor did she register Dorian’s arrival.

Evelyn was too busy breathing in deeply to stem her tears and casting sorrowful, wide eyes at her Commander.

He must have noticed for his glare softened and a slight tinge of guilt marred his handsome features.

“One battle at a time,” he said, in answer to Leliana and Dorian’s discussion on the events they saw in the future. “It is going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.”

His eyes flicked to her quickly as he talked, taking in the hunched posture of their Herald, looking small and defeated and sad.

“Join us,” he addressed her directly, “None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

His voice had regained its steady timbre. She eyed him warily, still reeling from his earlier display of anger.

_Abomination. Demon. Mark._ Another name to add to the list of what he saw in her. A thing. Not a person.

Her heart broke a little at the renewed warmth in his tone, and the renewed realization that he was clearly out of her league.

“I thought I’d take a nap, or a walk…” she hedged, wanting nothing more than a proper, long soak in a bath and to curl up in her own bed with her bruised feelings.

“What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?” he smiled at her kindly.

Evelyn wanted to sob at his charming grin, aimed solely at _her_. She had wanted, imagined, dreamed of this every day that she had been away from him.

But the recent realization that the very nature of her being disgusted him was still too raw, too fresh.

She averted her eyes sadly. _Oh, Cullen._ She recalled the promise he made, days earlier, of trying his best to treat mages fairly again.

Dorian, ever present, ever ostentatious and ever supportive, piped up, “I’ll skip the war council, but I would like to see the Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

Evelyn managed an exclamation of surprise at that, “Then, you’re staying?”

She beamed at his affirmation, “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded with, future or present.”

Cullen watched their exchange wordlessly, and the irrational part of her hoped vindictively that he would feel a semblance of jealousy.

The Commander betrayed no such emotion. He gave her one last small smile before saying, “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

His apparent acceptance, although gradual, of free mages under the Inquisition’s banner soothed the jagged wounds that he had sliced open earlier.

The smiles he so carelessly threw her way cradled her heart with the special warmth he generated.

Maybe she could be _more_ to him, maybe he could care for her, one day. Evelyn almost allowed herself to believe again.

_Almost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've sat on this for so long.
> 
> Too long.


	8. Longing (Haven)

“We’re overrun! To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

To say that Evelyn was upset would be a gross understatement.

No amount of _training_ would have prepared her to fight something of that size.

A dragon - a bloody large, flying dragon.

What in the Void was she supposed to do to it? Hitting the tough hide with fire was hardly a solution, since that beast actually _breathed_ fire. She could barely summon an ice cube, much less freeze an archdemon whole.

She rubbed her eyes wearily, feeling the weight of mortality like an anvil dragging her drown.

It seemed like barely minutes ago that she had been celebrating the sealing of the breach, balancing herself on the fence, legs swinging beneath her as she bombarded the silent Blackwall with questions that tended towards the subject of the Inquisition’s Commander, despite her efforts in keeping her mind off him.

Thus far, she had managed to coax Cassandra into admitting that Cullen was easy on the eyes, and Leliana to comment that he was a man of few words. “Too few,” she had mumbled in reply, and quickly looked away to escape Leliana’s suspicious glance.

Evelyn agreed wholeheartedly with their observations. She could count on one hand and recall, painstakingly, the few times she had a proper conversation with Cullen. At least, it was good to know that it was not because he _disliked_ her. That had been her earlier conclusion given that he was a templar, and treated mages with contempt in principle.

It had helped to erase the hurt his reaction had caused during the whole rebel mages fiasco, and Evelyn was back to swooning like an apprentice at him again.

Things were looking up, and she had been feeling pretty contented with her life again.

Cullen’s angry voice sliced through her thoughts. “We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.” He was snarling at Roderick and the newcomer, Cole.

_You are not dying_, she wanted to say. She _hated_ how resigned he sounded. Her eyes remained on him, taking in the resolute set of his jaw and the way he breathed heavily as he waited for her order.

Then Chancellor Roderick, the most unlikely savior in the midst of their crisis spoke up. She listened to his suggestion eagerly.

Evelyn turned to Cullen, hope spilling from her gaze, “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

The Commander looked taken aback, equally stunned at Roderick’s sudden change in heart. He cleared his throat.

“Possibly - if he shows us the path, but what of your escape?” he asked, brow furrowing and eyes piercing hers.

He was beautiful. She needed, wanted, ached and longed for him, but she forced her arms to stay at her side and clenched her fingers into a fist to stop herself from reaching out.

_You have no idea how wonderful you are_ , she yearned to say, _you deserve everything good that life has to offer._

But the words would not come. _Could_ not come. She was the Herald. He was the Commander. And he felt nothing for her.

Instead, she said nothing. She steeled herself and swallowed her fear, locking her jaw and forcing herself to look brave.

Cullen was a smart fellow, he must have seen it in her eyes. She was prepared to die. For Haven. For _him_.

Yes, she would do _anything_ to keep that man alive and whole.

The world may remember her as a selfless hero, and they would never know that all she was doing, have done, and will do, was for this beautiful man standing before her.

He will live, and she will perish. And she will sacrifice herself with no hesitation.

Cullen stared at her, unflinching. She knew he would read the determination on her face.

He swallowed, and Evelyn watched as his own eyes filled with concern.

“Perhaps you will surprise it…find a way,” he said softly.

It was more of a question. A spark of hope that would fuel her heart and spirit later as she trudged through the murky snow.

Before she could say another word, he had turned away from her.

Evelyn continued to watch as he issued orders to those around him, her heart in her throat, unable to look away. She could no longer see his face – his broad back, lined with that glorious fur, would be the final picture she would have of him.

She stood there. Selfish. Wanting. _More_ , she prayed, _give me more_. A proper hero would have prayed for victory, but not her. Silly, foolish, Evelyn Trevelyan craved his attention.

Then he turned, looking at her once more, and she felt her heart beat against her chest in anticipation.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line.”

A pause, and she held her breath as she waited.

“If we are to have a chance, if _you_ are to have a chance, let that thing hear you,” he said through gritted teeth.

Evelyn repressed a sigh. What was she hoping for, exactly? A declaration of undying love?

_Foolish_.

She nodded at him, memory tracing the outlines of his face, the tilt of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

_I love you_ , she thought but didn’t dare to say. All those months of toeing around her emotions, blatantly refusing to acknowledge what she felt…Maker, she _loved_ that man.

Right when she had to walk out to face her own death.

Evelyn closed her eyes tightly, holding in the sudden rush of tears. Her nose itched, her breathing was ragged, and she was pretty sure he had seen the sheen of tears that threatened to fall.

She turned to face the large solid doors. She would not let the final image of him be tainted by the look of pity she was certain would be written all over his beautiful face.

And then she was out of the chantry, in the open, engaging in fight she barely survived and _there, the dragon_ , and Cullen’s voice ringing in her ears.

_Let that thing hear you._

“Go!” she yelled at Cassandra and Varric and Solas. “Run, now!”

She did not want them to die with her. They were like family, now.

Evelyn staggered to the trebuchet, hesitating. Her arm hung limply at the side. Corypheus must have broken it when he threw her into the air, threatening to rend her from limb to limb.

Her  good hand halted before the lever. It would end this battle. It would give them a chance to escape.

And she would die.

In that moment, Evelyn _hated_ her life. Given to the circle at such a young age, she had never known the world. Now, just when she had the chance to _live_ , and the chance to _love_ , this monstrosity was taking everything away from her.

She howled in anguish, tears streamed down her frozen cheeks.  She looked like a fright – blood and snot staining her face, and this would be how they… how Cullen would find her body. If they even bothered backtrack through the knee deep snow banks to return to Haven for her.

The swirling storm and raging flames obscured her wails.

With strength she did not know she possessed, Evelyn launched her whole weight on the crank.

The machine creaked. It moaned. And then there was an ear-splitting crack. The earth thundered beneath her and she was engulfed in a stinging sheet of white mush.

All these years of surviving and behaving…it would end like this. Buried alive.

_Cullen_.

She shut her eyes tightly and felt her feet slip beneath her. She fell and tumbled and fell, blue and bruised from the cruel sleets of ice. He would have died to save them.

She conjured the final image of him – determined and protective. Her fall stopped as suddenly as it started. A painful jolt as she landed on _hard_ ice. She heard the tell-tale _crack_ as her back made contact with the surface. Her breath was knocked out of her.

_Cullen._

Her last thought was _Cullen_.

 

* * *

Staggering. Stumbling. Evelyn forced her leg to lift up and above of the deep, deep snow, only to take one step forward and sink into the mush again.

This was too exhausting.

When she came to, everything was dark and white and cold. She had no idea if she was dead, and if she had been sent to some sort of hell. It was a miracle she could still stand, as she honestly believed her spine had been split into two before she lost consciousness.

Climbing out of the snow, Evelyn could see the broken shambles of what remained of Haven. The dragon was gone. The Elder One was nowhere to be seen.

She had started walking to the back of the chantry, half buried in snow with its thin spire rising from the ground. She grabbed a couple of health potions that had been stored in a nearby crate. Those little tubes had probably saved her life, making it easier for her to stand straight, to breathe, to patch whatever went wrong with her spine after her fall.

She figured that if she walked straight up the hill – she would eventually stumble across someone, or something. The first burnt, blackened torch still hot to the touch that she stumbled upon had been the best sign she had been given in her entire life.

After that, it was just step after step of biting cold. Evelyn had no idea how long she had been walking for, or even if she had been walking in _circles_.

She thought she was going to die. She _did_ nearly die. Then, her mark had flared and did _something_ and the demons in her path started disintegrating.

She shoved the memory aside – no point worrying herself sick over the implications of _that_ when she wasn’t even sure she would survive this.

She already made it this far. Just a couple more steps, she willed.

No, a little time…her legs locked beneath her in defiance. She needed a few seconds to rest.

Dropping down to her knees, head heavy and drooping, she sank into the snow, no longer caring about the wet slush that seeped through her breeches.

“There she is!” she heard, the voice so faint, so far away. And yet it tugged at her, pulled her from her drowsy sleep.

Her angel, her own Maker-sent angel. Her knight in shining armour. Blonde, tall and beautiful.

_There you_ _are,_ she tried to say, _I have been looking for you. _

No words came forth, but a strong arm scooped her out of the damned snow and carried her closer to a chilled, metal plate.

“She’s frozen,” she heard Cassandra say and a heavy blanket fell on top of her.

The scent wafting to her nose was achingly familiar, and she tried to curl closer into his fur.

_Cullen, I need to tell you something before it’s too late. I love –_

Everything faded away and she knew nothing more.

* * *

She stirred, humming sleepily. The dulcet tones of her favourite ex-templar floated to her ears and Evelyn smiled.

It became louder and louder and…”What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

That was Cullen. His voice was raised, and he sounded agitated. Her smile melted into a concerned frown.

“We cannot simply ignore this, we must find a way!”

That was Cassandra.

“And who put you in charge? We need a consensus, or we have nothing!” Cullen challenged.

As his voice rang out angrily from across the camp, she could hear a hint of defeat and frustration.

Evelyn listened as Josephine began pleading with them to use reason and something regarding infrastructures and Cullen sardonically saying “That can’t come from _nowhere_!”

The advisors were arguing. Loudly. Evelyn sighed to herself.

Cullen was right. Haven is destroyed. There was nothing left except rubble and the buried dead.

Her head began to hurt. She forced her eyes to open and the first thing she saw was Mother Giselle leaning over her.

She smiled weakly at her. Warm hands almost burned her skin as the Revered Mother took her temperature.

“You need to rest, Herald. Is there anything you need?” she asked.

Without hesitation, "Cullen," she said, "I’d like to see him."

Mother Giselle pursed her lips - whether in disapproval or impropriety, Evelyn did not know. But her toes were frozen and burning simultaneously. Her lips felt stiff and unyielding. The throbbing in her head intensified to a point where thinking was no longer an option.

So Evelyn did not care.

"I want to see the Commander," she repeated petulantly.

Mother Giselle's hood dipped from her sight and she heard the shuffling of snow as her caretaker made her way to find the person in question.

She must have drifted off then, for when she opened her eyes again, the Commander was propped up beside her pile of rugs and fur. She forced her crusty eyes open and squinted up at him. His amber gaze was fixated on a candle by at the side. The flickering flame cast dancing shadows across his handsome features.

Evelyn sighed as she drank in the sight of him - taking note of the stubble that had grown longer, the tilt of his angular jaw and the pensiveness of his pose.

His eyes flicked over to hers at the sound, and she tried to summon a small smile for him.

"You asked for me, Herald?" his voice rasped above her. Soft yet gruff.

With great effort, she extracted her fingers from the bundle wrapped around her and reached for him. "Stay," she managed to croak. The tight confines of her cocoon restricted her movement, and her hand dangled limply between them.

Cullen's features softened, and he glanced down at the offered hand. With a tender smile, he nodded once at her. "Of course."

She would never know if it was only a dream, but Evelyn could have sworn that she felt the blazing heat of his palm as it covered her frozen fingers before she drifted off into the Fade again.


End file.
